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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646394">ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay? [ain't you my baby?]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerynoir/pseuds/cheerynoir'>cheerynoir</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Penny Dreadful: City of Angels (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, Coping Mechanisms, Drunk Sex, Everyone say thank you Fly Rico, F/M, M/M, Mateo Speed-runs a sexuality crisis, Multi, Mutual Pining, Rio is here to Ruin Everthing, The Crimson Cat is a Queer Bar and the Terrible Trio Work there, Trans Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:33:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerynoir/pseuds/cheerynoir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You heard of The Cat?"</p><p>A nod.</p><p>"Find me there."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I've got a good feeling about you, baby."</p><p>Or: A string of connected, modern AU oneshots starting in a hospital waiting room, and ending -- well. You'll see.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fly Rico &amp; Diego &amp; Bernadette, Fly Rico/Mateo Vega, Mateo Vega &amp; Josefina Vega, Mateo Vega/Rio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Mess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I blame <a href="https://tumblr.com/c0ffeebee">C0ffeebee</a> and <a href="https://tumblr.com/trustdivinechaos">TrustDivineChaos</a> for this thing entirely. This is written and posted in non-chronological order, and this'll be updated in a very slapdash manner. </p><p>Come say hi on my <a href="https://tumblr.com/%5Bcheerynoir%5D">tumblr</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eventually the music gave him a headache and the crush of people made him claustrophobic. So Mateo stepped out for fresh air and shivered at the chill as his sweat cooled. His ears rang in the sudden quiet. Smokers huddled in little knots, here and there, and he leaned back upwind of them, breathing deep. It was nice to hear himself think for once.</p>
<p>	 “Got a light?” asked a smooth voice, and he turned and found a white woman in a man’s coat. Red hair. Dark, wide-set eyes. Something about her — the twist of her mouth, maybe — reminded him of a fox. </p>
<p>	“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, and fumbled for the cheap zippo he’s started carrying when he realized most of his new friends lived on cigarettes and caffeine (and Rico was perpetually short a light).</p>
<p>	 He lit her cigarette and she smoked in silence for a while, before turning to him and pulling him into a conversation. He couldn’t remember what they spoke of - dancing, maybe? - but he knew the alley seemed very small, suddenly, with how they gravitated closer and closer. She tipped her face up for him, and it was a nice face, fine-boned and sharp-edged— </p>
<p>	“Mateo,” cut in Diego. Mateo startled. He hadn’t even heard the back door bang open. “There you are.”</p>
<p>	 He didn’t look happy, but Mateo mustered up a smile. “Hey! I was just talking with—”</p>
<p>	“Fuck off, Rio,” said Diego, without looking at Mateo at all. It was like he hadn’t spoken. A muscle in Diego’s jaw worked, and Mateo’d never seen him so closed off.</p>
<p>	“Good seeing you, too, Diego,” the redhead replied, smirking a lopsided little smirk. “See you around, baby. Thanks for the light.”</p>
<p>	 “Don’t,” started Mateo, but the woman was already slinking away. “Call me that,” he muttered, and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling - out of sorts. Diego’s glower settled on him, black and heavy. “What?”</p>
<p>	 “Steer clear of her,” he said. And gestured impatiently. “C’mon. Fly’s looking for you.”</p>
<p>	 “What? Why? She seemed—” <em>Hot. Intense. Dangerous.</em> “— fine?” </p>
<p>	Diego huffed out a breath and slammed the service door behind them, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Well she’s not. She’s a crazy bitch and you’re better off telling her to fuck herself.”</p>
<p>	 “Why?” </p>
<p>	Diego sucked his teeth, looking torn. But he rolled his shoulders and gave his head a shake, looking like he was getting ready for a brawl.</p>
<p>	 “Rico doesn’t like her,” he settled on at last. “She’s banned from The Cat.” </p>
<p>	That drew him up short. “What? I thought you only banned, like, cops and Nazis. Is she a Nazi?” </p>
<p>	“No.” Jaw tight, he waved Mateo on. “Go on. You know how he gets.”</p>
<p>	So he went, confused, and the feeling lingered, even through the happy fog that being in Fly’s orbit always left him in. Dett seemed to notice, because she snagged him a little later, a tray of shots in one hand.</p>
<p> 	“What’s up, baby?” </p>
<p>	“Don’t call me that,” he said, reflexive. Then, “Hey, do you know Rio? White girl, red hair? Kind of foxy?” </p>
<p>	Dett narrowed her eyes at him, but jerked her chin. He trailed her awkwardly as she wound across the floor, making sales and gathering empties.</p>
<p>	“She and Rico used to hang out,” she said on the way back to the bar, mouth a lipsticked twist of displeasure. The words felt forced, like maybe he’d yanked them out along with some teeth, maybe. </p>
<p>	“They dated?” </p>
<p>	“I don’t know what they did, except egg each other on. Like two sides of a fucking coin,” said Dett. “Fuck this - Fly! I’m taking my 15 and stealing your duckling!” </p>
<p>	Engaged with a rowdy bachelorette party, flashing the flirty customer service grin Mateo hated, Rico only lifted a hand to wave her off. Mateo trailed her back out to the alley, feeling weirdly unsettled. </p>
<p>	“I thought he didn’t date,” he ventured at last, settling down on an overturned milk-crate. That was his thing, wasn’t it? Unattainable, charismatic, painfully cool Fly Rico, who’d flirt with anybody but never follow through. </p>
<p>	 “Aw, ducky. He doesn’t date the babies. Everyone else is fair game,” she said, and patted his knee. “Buck up. So Rio was this spooky bitch who hung around for a while, back when we were younger and dumber. She loved to stir the pot and drag Rico into shit. Tagging a building wasn’t enough, she had to try and smash up a police station, that kind of thing, y’know?” </p>
<p>	Something warm settled in the pit of his stomach. He leaned forward and watched Dett light a cigarette and blow a series of wobbly smoke rings. What were they like, back then? What was Rico like, young and wild and hungry for everything? It itched at him like smoke in his lungs, the curiosity.</p>
<p>	But Dett drew up short and fixed him with a heavy, pointed look. “Hey. I’m only telling you this so you get the point. She’s bad news. I tell you, and you never bring it up again, never even breathe this bitch’s name, you got it?”</p>
<p>	“I got it.”</p>
<p>	“Swear,” she said sharply. </p>
<p>	A lifetime of promises to Fina – sacred things, big and small – had him crossing his heart with the tip of his finger before he’d even realized his hand had moved. “I swear,” he said, and meant it. What was one more secret for the pile? He’d die before he told. But Dett only eyed him and smoked furiously for a few long minutes. Then she nodded, and seemed to relent.</p>
<p>	 “So one night we’re all out partying, and Rio disappears for a bit. Gets into a fight with some dick twice her size - and Rico jumps in to save her ass, break it up, whatever.” Dett blew out about sigh, sounding frustrated. “She got him knifed - or knifed him herself. I wasn’t there, I didn’t see. And you know him. He’d never rat. But. He nearly died.”</p>
<p>	 “What?” said Mateo, as if from a long ways away. The ember in the pit of his stomach turned to ice. He swallowed hard. </p>
<p>	“In the hospital, after - I’d never seen Papa so mad. Banned Rio for life, not that any of us were fighting for her. She took off, before the police and the paramedics showed up, while D and I - and all the blood. There was so much blood, that night.” Cigarette between her teeth, her gaze fell to her empty hands. She flexed them slowly, like she could feel the hot red stain there, still. Then she took a deep breath and swallowed. Visibly yanked herself back from the edge. </p>
<p>	“She never visited - I would have killed her if she tried. After he healed up, she started sniffing around again, so Fly burned her, and now nobody fucks with her at all. So you steer clear of her, too. She only turns up trouble.” </p>
<p>	“Okay,” he said, faintly. He’d thought she was hot and smooth, before. Smoking a cigarette and looking like she wanted to swallow him whole. <em>She got him knifed. He nearly died.</em> Attraction withered and died, there, in the alley. He didn’t fight it, and he didn’t grieve.</p>
<p>	 A few days later, when he was taking a breather around eleven, Rio turned up again. Mateo ducked back inside without greeting her and couldn’t help sticking close to the bar, close to Fly, after. Like she was going to follow him in to finish what she started, maybe. Like he needed to see Rico whole and well and flirting carelessly for tips. It made his chest ache to see it, and his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw.</p>
<p>	 But he was fine. It was fine. Rico was perfectly healthy and what he did for his job was none of Mateo’s business. </p>
<p>	She was gone when Mateo followed Fly out into the back alley a while later, anxiously curling and uncurling his fists. Even when Fly grinned at him, shoving his sweat-dark hair out of his eyes, even when he ducked his head to chase the lighter’s flame, Mateo couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop jumping at shadows. The pinpricks of light reflected in Fly’s eyes like distant stars, and the fire kissed his cheeks and turned his eyelashes to gauzy spiderwebs, and he watched Mateo, honey-slow, with a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth and he—</p>
<p>	He still couldn’t relax. </p>
<p>	It was a long night. </p>
<p>#</p>
<p>	The door slammed behind him, the loudest sound in the whole world. Mateo stumbled, then staggered, then the wall surged up under his hands and he managed to stay upright, thank God. He didn’t think his legs would hold if he fell and needed to get back up, just now. </p>
<p>	The world spun in a wobbly, nauseating blur. Mateo shut his eyes and tried to breathe through it, though he felt his stomach churning and his throat twitching like he was gonna gag. </p>
<p>	He swallowed, and shut his mouth tight, and breathed. He didn’t wanna throw up. Not right now and not outside The Cat, where Rico was inside with some guy with a shitty haircut and his pretty hands all over the guy, laughing into his shoulder as they moved to the electric beat. The only two people in the fucking world, apparently.</p>
<p>	Some night off.</p>
<p>	 Tears threatened, and Mateo tried to swallow those too. He laid his hot cheek against the brick and scraped it, feeling the roughness catch on his skin. It distracted him, and it was cool, and everything was terrible but at least he had this wall right here.</p>
<p>	 “Shit,” he mumbled, a slow-dawning realization. “Shit, I’m hammered.”</p>
<p>	 <em>Absolutely soaked,</em> crowed the little voice in the back of his head that sounded like Rico at his happiest. It felt like getting stabbed right between his ribs, hearing that. It hurt, it <em>hurt.</em> Hurt like Raul telling him, gentle and so damn kind, ‘Maybe you should give this a rest, huh?’ because he had his answer and Rico didn’t want him, wouldn’t ever want him. Mateo’s breath punched out in a ragged sob and then he couldn’t stop. The dam shattered and the tears and hurt poured out. </p>
<p>	He wiped at his face with both hands, like he had when he was just a kid tagging along at the grocery store and so worked up about something that there was snot and tears everywhere and too many eyes watching and Tiago was getting frustrated with him again—</p>
<p>	 “You okay, baby?” </p>
<p>	Mateo wanted it to be Rico <em>so bad.</em> So bad it hurt, even. He wanted Rico’s warm eyes and pretty hands and husky voice, and his arm around Mateo’s shoulders like the only thing anchoring him to the earth. The heat of him, and the smell of his sandalwood-and-spice cologne, and his quicksilver grin. Mateo wanted him. But it was only some girl with a fox face. He sniffled at her, and felt her hand on his arm like an afterthought. She was looking at him like - </p>
<p>	Like she wanted him.</p>
<p>	God, he wanted to be wanted. Just a little. Just for a bit.</p>
<p>	 “No,” he told her, drunk and honest. </p>
<p>	She smiled with one side of her mouth, and wiped the tears off his cheeks with both thumbs. Her hands were cool and sure. He leaned into her, and her smile widened with a flash of teeth. </p>
<p>	“Well,” she said, “let’s see if we can fix that, huh?”</p>
<p>	 And then they were kissing and the world dissolved into heat and want and relief like cool sweet water on a parched throat. She wanted him, and it was simple and it made heat bloom in the pit of his stomach. Her back hit the brick and her mouth opened under his and it was good, God, it was so good. She tasted like mint and whiskey and he chased the taste of it while her fingernails raked down his back.</p>
<p>	 She groaned against his cheek when he hitched one of her legs up over his hip, grinding in close. It made him wonder dizzily if he could do it. If he could hike up her other leg and have her right here against the wall in front of God or anybody. Her pulse pounded under his tongue, and she arched into his hands, and she was so fucking soft and she wanted him and he <em>wanted—</em></p>
<p>	“Mm,” she sighed, and her head lolled back, and he mouthed at her neck like something starved.  “Find us a room, baby.”</p>
<p>	“Nn?” Words were too hard. He was too hard. He lifted his head when she pulled on his hair and fixed him with a black-eyed stare. All pupil. She licked her lower lip in a flash of pink, and he dipped to do the same, but her grip on his hair tightened in a stinging flash of heat. He bit back a moan.</p>
<p>	“A room,” she repeated. “A motel or something.”</p>
<p>	There was one a couple of blocks over. The Sunset Motel. But even a couple of blocks felt like too far, with her pressed so close.</p>
<p>	“Alright,” he panted, and stamped a messy kiss across her mouth. “Alright. C’mon.”</p>
<p>	The Sunset was a couple blocks away, but there was an apartment above The Cat that would be empty this time of night, with two of its occupants working and one with his hands all over some guy with a shitty haircut. Mateo led the way, knocking the loose brick out of the wall and scraping up his fingers to get at the spare key. The inside of the apartment was dark, and the floor vibrated in time with the music pounding below. The girl laughed, low and husky and hot, and they were kissing again, tripping over each other and the coffee-table. Mateo managed to kick the door shut behind them, and then it was a scramble – out of clothes, into the nearest bedroom – and then—</p>
<p>	Things got a little hazy, then. Clarity came in little flashes: one cold hand against his navel while the other rolled a condom down his length, the flash of red hair against a grey pillowcase, the ragged noise she made when he pressed his fingers – his cock – inside her. The smell of musk and sweat and sandalwood that clung to the skin of her throat where he pressed his greedy mouth.</p>
<p>	After, he must have slept, because he woke reaching for her. The whole process repeated itself – once, then twice. Her hands, her mouth, the hot clutch of her body. The fevered intensity of her stare on his face, her mouth gasping “baby, baby” until he had to turn his face away, into the pillow, the taste of blood in his mouth from his bitten lip.</p>
<p>	And through it all, the warm smell of sandalwood and spice. </p>
<p>	He was muzzy, half-asleep, content with her skin against his and her head on his chest when a flicker at the doorway caught his attention and—</p>
<p>	Rico.</p>
<p>	Rico with one hand going white on the doorknob, still as death, the other clenched into a fist with something in it. His left thumb twitched, working the spinning loop of his fidget-ring frantically. His eyes – his eyes were—</p>
<p>	Mateo sat up all at once, mouth dry, tongue clumsy. The air was blood-hot against his bare skin when the sheets fell away. </p>
<p>	“Fly,” he said, drunk and stupid. He sounded surprised. “Fly, I uh—”</p>
<p>	He stumbled, tripped, babbled. The girl. The girl didn’t say anything at all. He turned to her, hoping maybe—</p>
<p>	It hit him, then.</p>
<p>	Fox face. Red hair. Dark eyes. A crooked kind of smirk.</p>
<p>	“Hey, Fly,” purred Rio.</p>
<p>	Mateo shut his mouth, feeling like he’d missed a step on the way down the stairs. The gravity of the situation seeped into his pickled brain. His stomach iced over and his lungs locked up.</p>
<p>	“Rico,” he heard himself say. Rico still hadn’t moved. He was always moving – tapping his foot, pacing, spinning his fidget ring – but now he was still, all but his wild eyes.</p>
<p>	“Get out,” said Rico. </p>
<p>	“Rico,” Mateo pleaded.</p>
<p>	He moved at last, and something hit Mateo in the face. Surprised, he sucked in a breath, and a the stink of what he’d done – smoke-liquor-sweat-perfume – washed over him. It was his jacket. His denim jacket, jingling with pins. He must have dropped it, before. </p>
<p>	He was vaguely aware of Rio sliding out of bed – out of Rico’s bed, <em>fuck</em> – and gathering her clothes, unhurried and unbothered and smooth. </p>
<p>	Numbly, Mateo put on his shirt. He found his jeans, and he shoes and – and he was walking out with Rio, past a dumbfounded Diego and a glaring Dett in the doorway. He walked away and expected to cry. He even wiped at his dry eyes, like muscle-memory. But no tears came. </p>
<p>	With each step, a hole ripped open a little wider behind his ribs, black and sucking as a chest-wound. He breathed in shallow little sips, expecting pain.</p>
<p>	Diego was the one to shut the door behind them. The slam of the deadbolt locking felt – horrifically final.</p>
<p>	Mostly dressed in the pre-dawn gloom, Mateo couldn’t help but look around. His head felt foggy, sluggish, and his throat thick. The beginnings of a hangover, probably.</p>
<p>	“What do I do now?” he wondered, and the words were flat.</p>
<p>	Rio touched his arm, and he didn’t flinch away. </p>
<p>	“We get breakfast,” she told him.</p>
<p>	So they did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Clean Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Set directly after The Mess. The morning after, if you will.</p><p>The boys cope. Luckily, they don't have to do it alone.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Found family! Support networks! Longsuffering sisters! It's got everything, folks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So they got breakfast, and it was ashes in Mateo’s mouth. He ate mechanically, and across the table, Rio was quiet. She ate with a single-minded focus, like anything less wasn’t worth her time.</p><p>	<em>Fuel in the tank,</em> Mateo thought, looking at her. The words swam up through the lingering fog of alcohol and hurt to unfurl – a banner he couldn’t decipher or care about.</p><p>	It all rang hollow. False and silent and – bad. How many times had he gotten breakfast with the guys after they got off shift, crammed into a booth and talking over each other and stealing off each other’s plates? Rico’s arm stretched out across the back of the booth, warm, and Diego laughing at his own joke so hard he was silent and shaking, Dett guarding her omelette and not afraid to kick in her pointy-toed boots beneath the table. That was how meals were supposed to be shared. Not – not like this.</p><p>	<em>I don’t think that’s going to happen again,</em> unfurled another banner. That one hurt.</p><p>	Mateo drank some coffee and found himself rubbing his chest, where that deep black well had opened up. It echoed.</p><p>	After she finished and Mateo stopped pushing soggy pancakes around on his plate, Rio paid, kissed his cheek, and left him there on the curb. She left him with her phone-number and the ghost of sandalwood in his nose.</p><p>	He didn’t look at his phone as he trudged home. Half scared, maybe, that he’d find a string of angry texts. Terrified he’d find nothing.</p><p>	At least anger was – words. He could work with that, maybe. Apologize, at least. What could he do with frosty silence but grieve and stew?</p><p>	So he walked, with his head down and his shoulders slumped, aching.</p><p>	He barely made it through the door before Josefina was on him.</p><p>	“You didn’t come home last night and I tried to cover for you but Mama’s pissed!” she said all at once.</p><p>	Mateo blinked at her. He should care about that, he was sure. He’d been fighting with – everyone – more, since he’d discovered The Cat. Even once he’d come home after the mess that was his coming out, and he’d felt like he was walking on eggshells, the undercurrent of tension had never fully ebbed away. He was beginning to think living on Rico’s sofa had been his happiest moment, and wasn’t that pathetic?</p><p>	“Oh yeah?” he asked, a beat too late. His throat was full of sand.</p><p>	Fina’s brow creased, and her little grin fell into a frown. “What happened? You don’t look afterglow-y.”</p><p>	Unbidden, a squawk of laughter burst from between his teeth. If only she knew. He wiped at his mouth as if to stifle it, and still didn’t cry.</p><p>	“It’s – it’s not that,” he said, when Fina only looked more and more worried. He still couldn’t quite feel it, was the thing. It was like the hole in his chest was swallowed up everything he should be feeling and leaving a numbness in its wake. “It’s – I ruined it, I think.”</p><p>	“What?”</p><p>	Then her hands were on him, half guiding, half yanking, until they were in her bedroom and the door was closed – the closest thing any of them had to privacy with walls this thin. It was Saturday. Mama would be at work at the doctor’s place, and Tiago would be with his wife, or working, and Raul might be around, or he might be out checking in down the street. It felt strange, not to know for sure. For so long, they’d lived in each other’s pockets.</p><p>	“I... I fucked up, Fina,” he said, after she’d prodded it out of him. “I...”</p><p>	“What happened? How?”</p><p>	“I can’t tell you the details,” he said. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I promised. I <em>swore.</em>”</p><p>	“Okay. But the broad strokes?”</p><p>	“I slept with someone I shouldn’t have,” he admitted, and wondered if it was strange to be telling his little sister this. She’d always been his confidante – even before Raul. She was only a couple of years younger than him, but still, it was weird, wasn’t it? His head ached and his mouth was full of cotton. He grimaced, even as Fina huffed a little laugh.</p><p>	“Oh, is that all? As long as everyone was consenting—”</p><p>	“In Fly’s bed.”</p><p>	“<em>What.</em>” Somewhere between shocked and appalled and amused. Some confidante.</p><p>	Mateo stared at his hands, the blunt fingers and brutally short nails and scarred knuckles. They opened and closed restlessly. </p><p>	“His ex, I think,” he admitted. “In his bed. I didn’t realize it at the time. I was pretty drunk. But after. He found us.”</p><p>	“Oh my god.”</p><p>	“Yeah. So, uh.” He let out a shuddering breath, and the world blurred at the edges. His words crackled. “So I fucked it up, Fina. I can’t – I can’t go back. They all – they all hate me now, I think.”</p><p>	“Oh, Mateo.” Then her arms were around him, squeezing him fiercely, and the tears came like rain after drought, and he lost himself in it for a while.</p><p> </p><p>#</p><p> </p><p>	He couldn’t look at the bed. He couldn’t look anywhere <em>but</em> the bed. The stink in the room made his lungs itch and his palms sweat. Rio used the same perfume, after all these years, still. He hated that he knew that, now. Hated a lot of things, if he was being honest.</p><p>	Rico was dimly aware of a couple of things: Diego in the living room, snarling at Dett as they argued in low voices; the quiet metallic clinking of his fidget ring as he worked at it; the silence downstairs, with The Cat closed. The stink of the room.</p><p>	The knowledge that he was being a little bit dramatic.</p><p>	Overdramatic, maybe.</p><p>	Who reacted like this to their ... friend getting laid?</p><p>	But it was a knife in his throat, knowing <em>who</em> and <em>where</em> and - </p><p>	<em>What the fuck, Mateo?</em></p><p>	Yeah, he was aware of that, too, the thought circling through his brain in a hundred different intonations?</p><p>	<em>What the FUCK, Mateo?</em></p><p>	He needed to – shower. To shower, and change, and sleep. The exhaustion pulled at him, even if his buzz had long-since fled. It had been a long night.</p><p>	But the bed.</p><p>	His teeth ached. It took a moment to unlock his jaw.</p><p>	“Rico?” Dett, with her make-up sweat-smudged and her mouth a worried twist and her hands on his shoulders. “Hey. You with me?”</p><p>	“Always,” he said, and summoned up a smile. Overdramatic, that was it. It wasn’t like Mateo knew—</p><p>	<em>Knew what? Which room was yours?</em></p><p>	He brushed aside the concern, but Dett was not so easily shaken off. She tightened her grip instead.</p><p>	“Here’s the plan, Flyboy,” she told him, eyes on his, firm. “You and me, we’re going shopping. While we’re out, Diego’s going to deal with – that,” she said, jerking her chin. “Then, breakfast, alright?”</p><p>	He was pretty hungry. It felt like he shouldn’t be. But he was starving.</p><p>	“Yeah,” he said, eventually. Dett smiled at him, and her shoulders dropped in naked relief, and behind her Diego was hovering with his mouth set and his hands full of garbage bags, and Rico felt like the worst kind of asshole, worrying them both. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just tired, guys.”</p><p>	“Sure,” Dett agreed, and guided him into the shower. There were clothes waiting for him on the toilet lid when he finished scrubbing on autopilot. Dark jeans and clean boxer-briefs and a black tank he’d had since senior year, butter-soft from wear and age. For a long minute, he just petted over the fabric, wanting – something. It was like there was a balloon in his chest, blown up and squishing everything else out of the way. He wanted to let the air out, and didn’t know how. </p><p>	Dett and Diego were maybe the only two people who knew how much he liked soft things against his skin. No tags on his shirts, nothing scratchy. They knew him best.</p><p>	So why didn’t it make him feel better?</p><p>	He dressed and headed out, and Dett intercepted him with his boots and the car keys before he could get back to his room.</p><p>	“I got the keys from Papa,” she told him. “Let’s get going, yeah?”</p><p>	In the other room, Diego swore. Rico’s stomach gave a terse flip.</p><p>	“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”</p><p>	In the car, Rico couldn’t shake it, the distant feeling. Like he was walking around in a glass box. He wanted to shake it. Wanted to give Dett the attention she deserved. He was being stupid and overdramatic. </p><p>	But.</p><p>	“Sorry about this,” he said, quiet over the German metal she was playing at a whisper. The sun was bright and hot. It was going to be a beautiful day.</p><p>	“Nothing to apologize for,” she told him without looking away from the highway. “Wasn’t your fuck up.”</p><p>	“No, I mean. I’m being overdramatic about this.”</p><p>	She shot him a sharp look over her sunglasses, but he pressed on. “I am. I didn’t flip this bad when Diego fucked – whatsisname, Carlos, in my bed a couple years ago. We laughed about it, remember?”</p><p>	“Rico, that was different,” she said, achingly gentle, like he was some kid dying of cancer and she had to break the news. He grimaced and looked away, rubbing his mouth. Sun glinted like knives off a distant mirage.</p><p>	“It shouldn’t be,” he insisted. “I’ve got no claim on Mateo. We weren’t dating – weren’t anything.”</p><p>	They were a maybe. An almost. Mateo was shiny and new and he wanted everything the Queer scene had to offer and he wanted it <em>now</em> and Rico didn’t want— </p><p>	He didn’t want to take advantage. </p><p>	So he’s turned aside Mateo’s clumsy advances with care, and tried to look out for him. To make a brother of him, as he had Diego all those years ago.</p><p>	Well. Look how that turned out.</p><p>	Same actions, different response. <em>Wonder why that is, genius?</em></p><p>	“It’s not like he knew,” he went on absently. “About Rio, I mean. And he seemed pretty out of it...”</p><p>	He glanced over, and Dett’s expression brought him up short. Something cold slithered into the pit of his stomach and stuck there, gnawing. “What?” he asked. </p><p>	Dett looked back out, biting her lip. “I told him,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you hate talking about it, but Diego caught them in the back-alley a month back and he wanted to know why he was to ignore her.”</p><p>	Rico’s stomach sunk into his boots. </p><p>	“Oh,” he said.</p><p>	Dett pried a hand off the wheel and put a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry. You know I never would have if I had a choice. I didn’t give him details. Just – you used to run together and it went bad. How you gave us a scare. He seemed to get it. I never thought he’d...”</p><p>	<em>You gave us a scare</em> – that was how Papa described it, too. A few days white-knuckled at a bedside, praying and swearing and hoping, grey with stress and grief. But sure. A scare. Like he’d taken off for the weekend without telling anybody.</p><p>	He’d feel worse if he remembered any of it. Recovery was a haze of the good stuff and white walls and scratchy fabric. Day time TV and a lot of weird dreams. He didn’t remember getting stabbed. He didn’t remember much of that night at all. The docs said it was normal. Rico wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember at all. Seemed better not to poke the bear.</p><p>	But despite himself, Rico flinched. A scare. He’d scared them. She offered him an apologetic grimace, damp at the edges. Rico covered her hand with his own.</p><p>	“Thanks,” he said. “For taking care of it.”</p><p>	“Not that it did much good.” He tightened his grip when she tried to retreat. </p><p>	Well. There wasn’t much to say to that. Rico’s attention flicked to the window and he watched the horizon slip past.<br/>
They ended up at a mall, wandering through the mid-morning crowd. Dett didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t let go of hers. Their rings pressed together, and their shoulders bumped, and they didn’t let go.</p><p>	They were huddled in a Wayfair petting bed sheets and avoiding the clerk when he looked up suddenly.</p><p>	“Do you think he did it to hurt me?” he asked, soft as the organic cotton against the back of his fingers. “Because I wouldn’t...?”</p><p>	Dett pressed her lips together. A muscle in her jaw worked, and she wordlessly passed him a set of pale blue jersey sheets to feel. It was like petting an old t-shirt. “I wouldn’t think he had it in him,” she admitted. “But it seems a little deliberate, doesn’t it? Your bed, out of anywhere.”</p><p>	“He seemed pretty drunk,” he ventured. “And surprised.”</p><p>	“You don’t have to defend him, you know.” It felt like a reflex. Might as well not blink, or breathe. “But. I don’t know. Maybe he’s just a fuck up.”</p><p>	That startled a laugh out of him, the glass around him cracking. Dett grinned at him. “Yeah,” he said, and bowed his head. “Maybe.”</p><p>	Eventually, he picked a set of cotton-bamboo sheets. Steel blue. High thread count. He wasn’t thinking about the price until he saw the total and went cold all the way through. Dett slapped down her card and shouldered him out of the way when he tried to stop her.</p><p>	“It’s too much,” he told her. “Let me—”</p><p>	“Too late,” she chirped, and shoved the bag into his chest.</p><p>	As he ranted at her about it – neither of them made enough to justify that, what are you doing, Dett, you should have let me at least go halfsies – she steered him back into the food-court and into the line for Cinnabon. </p><p>	“Look,” she told him, no bullshit, and, God, he loved her fiercely. “You buy breakfast. Then we’re square.”</p><p>	Rico threw up his hands and paid for breakfast.</p><p>	“Do you remember when we ere just numbskull kids,” she started.</p><p>	“So, like, last week?”</p><p>	She kicked him under the table and sucked a smear of icing off her thumb. “Do you remember when we were numbskull kids,” she began again, louder. “And that fucker on the football team took me out and tried to get into my pants, and when I told him where to go, he told the entire school that my dick was bigger than his?”</p><p>	“Yeah,” said Rico immediately. “D and I took care of him.”</p><p>	“Obviously. You fed him his own teeth, but before that, do you remember what you did?”</p><p>	He raised his eyebrows at her, and drank some coffee. </p><p>	“You dragged me outta my bedroom and mopped up my face, and took me shopping. We combed that mall for hours, and you musta spend all of it on that couch outside the change rooms, but you didn’t complain. Shit, you spent two hundred dollars on a dress for me, the perfect fucking dress, and you said, ‘mamacita, you’re gonna be the hottest girl in the club, just you wait,’ and you took me out dancing. You remember that?” </p><p>	It had turned out to be a good day, even if it started out shitty. By the time they’d found the perfect dress – and heels to match because <em>fuck boys who didn’t like tall girls</em> – Dett was laughing at his shitty jokes and letting him needle her, and they’d had a blast that night, the three of them bouncing from club to club. After, there’d been blood and a wrong had been righted. But first, there’d been dancing.</p><p>	“Yeah,” he said at last, and looked up from his cinnamon bun. “I remember.”</p><p>	She met his eye, flinty, and leaned across the table to grab his hand. “Good. We’re going out dancing tonight.”</p><p>	After, Diego inhaled the cinnamon roll they’d brought back for him, and the coffee, they’d all crashed on Rico’s bed, breaking in the new sheets. They slept in a tangle, with the window thrown open and the curtains yanked shut. Everything smelled fresh and clean and new. Diego had changed his trash, and there was no sign of the garbage bags he must have filled with debris from the night before. </p><p>	In that warm, hazy place between waking and sleep, Rico turned and mumbled his thanks into the space between them. Diego butted his head into Rico’s shoulder with a sigh. “No big,” he rasped. “Fuck that guy.”</p><p><em>I wanted to.</em> But the words wouldn’t come.</p><p>“He shows his face, I’ll pound him,” Diego went on, turning into Rico’s chest with a grumble. He arm slid around his middle and stayed, warm and heavy.</p><p>Dett let out a murmur of agreement, and burrowed more firmly into Rico’s other side, restless fingers at his chest, toying with his St. Jude pendant. He was helpless to do anything but draw them both closer and give them a place to rest their heads. He could do that, at least, as their legs tangled and sleep rose up in a black wave to drag him under. He could at least do that.</p><p>	When they woke, they were hungry and restless and wild at the edges. Dett applied her make-up like war-paint, and each layer of clothing was another piece of armour. Rico smeared his eyes with dark liner, and left his shirt unbuttoned to the navel, and forgot, for a while, about the empty space at his side.</p><p>	Soon, a wrong would be righted.</p><p>	But first they’d go dancing.</p>
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